I wanted nothing more than for you to be there for my high school graduation. I wanted you to see me in my cap and gown and watch me walk across that stage and receive my diploma. I wanted to hear that you were proud of me and that you loved me. Everybody else got to have you there for that. But not me.

I wanted nothing more than for you to be in attendance at my wedding. I wanted to reserve a special moment for you to walk down the aisle. I wanted our family to be reunited so you could be happy once again. Everybody else got to have you there for that. But not me.

I wanted nothing more for than for you to hold my firstborn child. I wanted you to kiss them and shower them with love and affection as you did with me. I wanted you to be in their lives and teach them the way you taught me. Everybody else got to have you there for that. But not me.

For a long time, that's what I thought about when I remembered you. I listed off all the big events in my life that you would not get to experience physically with me. I thought about all the pictures that would never be taken, all the laughs that would never be uttered, all the tears that would never be shed. And it made me angry.

Why didn't I get to have those moments with you? Why did you have to be taken away from me? Why me?

But then I realized something: when I remembered you, I was only thinking about me.

It doesn't matter what we didn't get to do or won't get to do -- what matters is what we did get to do together. I don't want to remember the pain or regret I have or how mad I am. When I remember you, I want to really remember you.

I want to be reminded of your sweet smile and soothing voice. How you scratched my back and always let me eat cookies when I came over. I want to remember Saturday night dinners and family vacations and all the times I insisted "Let me talk to Grandma!"

And I want to remember every Christmas morning when I waited for you to come watch me open presents and all those Thanksgiving afternoons where I watched you make the gravy with awe. That's what I think about when I think of you now.

It hurts when I see people my age or older with their grandparents and there isn't anything I would not give to spend just one more day with you. But I'm starting to realize that the days I did spend with you were good enough for me.

When I remember you, I smile. Because you are worth remembering.